Who Are We as Black Women in Higher Education Academia?

The Academic Series: Black Women in Higher Education Academia?

By MeShonya Wren-Coleman, Ph.D.

In the world of academia, who are we as Black female educators? How are we perceived in comparison to our white female counterparts or to male-dominated figures across ethnic backgrounds? When will we be able to walk into a room and be recognized not for the color of our skin or the assumed strength inherited from our ancestors, but simply for our intellect, our scholarship, and our professional accomplishments? And perhaps most critically, why does our seat at the table take so much longer to secure? As Dr. Moya Bailey reminds us, “Black women are expected to do the most and be the least.”

For me, it has taken nearly thirty years to climb the ladder in higher education. Thirty years. For others, that ascent took five, some securing leadership roles immediately after completing their Ph.D., and others before even finishing one. We often hear the phrase, “It’s not what you know, but who you know.” Yet history has shown that many who advanced quickly through relationships alone have fallen just as fast, lacking the knowledge, preparation, or integrity to sustain the roles they were given. As Dr. Bettina Love so aptly states, “Merit is often measured by proximity, not performance.”

Many Black women in academia can relate to this prolonged climb. We have accepted lower pay, gone the extra mile, stayed late, arrived early, and worked twice as hard just to prove our existence and our worth. And still, we find ourselves overlooked and watching individuals with far less experience, still “wet behind the ears,” ascend past us and take their seats at the table. In many ways, Black women are asked to be institutional saviors in systems that never fully valued them. As Dr. Dena Simmons captures this reality, “Black women are asked to save institutions that were never designed to save us.” This begs the question: What is really happening to Black women in academia?

Over the years, stories have emerged of Black women who finally reached the top only to be punished once they arrived. At Harvard University, Dr. Claudine Gay was forced out amid accusations of dissertation plagiarism, raising questions about whether similar scrutiny has been equally applied to other university presidents. At the University of Mississippi, Dr. Charlotte Pegues was essentially forced into retirement following legal controversies unrelated to her academic leadership. And perhaps most heartbreaking was the loss of Dr. Antoinette “Bonnie” Candia-Bailey, who died by suicide after repeatedly reporting workplace bullying at Lincoln University in Missouri only to go unheard. These cases underscore a painful truth articulated by Dr. Melissa Harris-Perry: “When Black women lead, the margin for error disappears.”

This pattern is not limited to predominantly white institutions. At Historically Black Colleges and Universities—spaces often assumed to be safer or more affirming—Black women presidents have also faced abrupt exits shaped by financial scrutiny, governing board conflicts, and institutional pressures. Dr. Irma McClaurin resigned from Shaw University in 2011 after less than a year amid claims of academic dysfunction following faculty firings. Dr. Carolyn Meyers stepped down from Jackson State University in 2016 amid financial concerns. That same year, Dr. Elmira Mangum left Florida A&M University, reportedly due to strained relationships with the board. More recently, Dr. Glenda Glover announced her departure from Tennessee State University in spring 2024 following a state report on financial management. Dr. Helene Gayle officially resigned from Spelman College in November 2024 after a personal leave, with an interim president continuing leadership. In January 2025, Dr. Suzanne Elise Walsh announced her resignation from Bennett College. These examples make clear that representation alone does not equal safety or sustainability. As Tarana Burke reminds us, “Representation without protection is not progress.”

These were Black women. All in higher education. All with stories of perseverance, sacrifice, and resilience. And all who paid an extraordinary price for their ascent.

So, to Black women in higher education who aspire to administrative or executive leadership: what is your story? Have you made it? And if so, at what cost?

For me, the challenges included trusting those who claimed to support me and only to never receive a returned phone call or email. I invested time in networking spaces that promised empowerment but ultimately served as platforms for others’ self-promotion. What changed everything was learning how to advocate for myself, to market my own value, and to be unapologetic about what I bring to the table. Audre Lorde warned us long ago, “You cannot wait for institutions to love you back,” and that truth reshaped how I move through academic spaces.

I know that I have something to offer. I don’t just talk the talk, I walk the walk. Beginning my career as a substitute teacher and navigating multiple educational pathways taught me lessons that cannot be found in textbooks or inherited through legacy. I did not come from a family name that opened doors. I was not born with a silver spoon. I worked harder than most and my journey in higher education reflects that reality.

For many Black women, this story is familiar. Raising families, burning the midnight oil, navigating male-dominated spaces, and constantly proving our competence while the color of our skin continues to work against us. And yet, we persist, deliberate and unafraid. As Audre Lorde declared, “I am deliberate and afraid of nothing.”

Our presence in academia is not an anomaly. Our excellence is not accidental. And our seat at the table is not a favor. it is earned. And if the table refuses to make room, we will build our own.